


The Lost Heir

by Brizo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Brooms, Dark Magic, F/M, Magic, On the Run, Post-Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Post-Hogwarts, Riddle family - Freeform, Sex, Threats of Violence, Wands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 09:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brizo/pseuds/Brizo
Summary: Meredith has been on the run longer than she cares to remember.  Helped by her uncanny ability to hide, and lots of improbable feats of good fortune she has evaded the organisation that pursue her.  That is until she lets her guard down.  Now she has been caught by strange men using sticks and strange words as weapons.  Taken into a world of magic, politics, and intrigue; Meredith must find out what about herself is so important to her captors before it is too late.





	The Lost Heir

Meredith was getting a lot of unwanted attention this evening and couldn’t quite fathom why. Over the years, the art of being seen, but then swiftly forgotten, was one that she had practiced and perfected. She had found, by changing her hair to a scraggly mouse brown bob, wearing plain and often ill-fitting clothing bought from the various charity shops, and adopting a slightly hunched shouldered posture, that she could play the perceptions of those around her like a finely tuned musical instrument. Until today, that is.

From her wingback chair in front of the fireplace, she surveyed the busy pub. The drone of voices split occasionally by sharp barks of laughter mirrored the comforting rumble and intermittent snaps from the fire. It was an easy place to relax. Easy to let one’s guard down. Perhaps that was why, when she had emerged from the toilets earlier in the evening, her freshly sink-washed hair stuffed into a grey beanie, she hadn’t immediately realised she was being watched. 

When her food arrived, the waiter had parted a group of young farmer-types from around the corner of the bar. That was when she first saw him. The man perched on a bar stool by the entrance to the kitchen was facing away from her, his elbows planted on the edge of the bar and his broad back stretching the unusual black jacket he wore. It was long, like an old-style formal coat, and as she watched more closely, it flickered green and blue in the wavering light like a raven’s feather. Some sort of weird goth type, likely on the way to nearby Whitby, she mused. His face, reflected in the bar mirror, was actually quite attractive, in a hard and unforgiving kind of way. It was framed by thick copper curls which were worn slightly longer than was fashionable. It was a slight movement of an eyebrow, arching upwards probably only millimetres, that jerked her gaze to his eyes. They met her own, cool and grey.

Shit! She had quickly looked back down at her food, flushing. Heart pounding, she then forced herself to scan her eyes absent-mindedly across the bar, and past the stranger again. She forced herself to be slow, calm, nonchalant. Just another tired walker, gazing off into space. It must have worked, because the man was now flicking casually through a tourist magazine.

Her unease didn’t fade, and for the rest of her meal she had remained carefully relaxed in posture, before yawning and moving with deliberate leisureliness to the armchair where she now resided. There were four guys, that much was fairly certain. Two were at the bar, one at either end, one was leaning casually against an oak pillar near the entrance, and another she could see just outside the door to the beer garden, holding his mobile phone upside down. They all wore bizarre clothes that looked like something out of a costume drama. One that had gotten its periods of English history horribly muddled up, she thought, eyeing upside-down-phone guy’s pinstriped trousers and black velvet doublet.

She made to pick up her rucksack and head to the front door, having endured far too much sideways appraisal from the four. The one at the door moved almost imperceptibly. Phone guy’s phone disappeared into a pocket, and both men at the bar now had feet planted firmly on the floor and empty hands, although to the inexperienced observer they were still relaxed in posture. Ah fuck, Meredith cursed her own stupidity. They must be Gang. How had Gang found her in rural Yorkshire for God’s sake? She made an abrupt change in direction and headed instead back into the women’s toilets, locking the door behind her.

She paced in front of the cubicles, biting at her fingernails. It had been years since anyone had been even successfully found one of her previous haunts, nevermind physically showed up at her current location. Elizabeth Jearley’s wizened face appeared in her mind, her reed thin voice recalled from Meredith’s teenage years. Merry, they will kill you if they ever find you, and that is all you need to know. Your mother is dead, and I swore I would care for you. Those gangsters won’t rest until your six feet under missy. Now pack up your stuff, its time to move on. Meredith’s eyes prickled remembering the old lady. She couldn’t let her down, not after her sacrifice.

She entered a cubicle, and carefully hoisted herself up to stand on the cistern. There was a small hatch window set high in the wall. Slowly, she pushed it open and peered cautiously out. The window faced towards the forest behind the pub, and was around the corner from where Phone-guy was probably still stationed. She would have to be quiet. She lowered her bag onto the grass below, then followed it out feet first, landing cat-like in the weeds. The September evening was cool but the air was relatively still. She was glad for her thick cowl-neck jumper, though, not least because the dark colour would help her slip away unseen. Scooping up the now damp rucksack, she rounded the other corner to the building and froze. Parked beside her battered old VW Transporter was a sleek black BMW 5-series. Inside were two more men in dark outfits, one was twiddling a small stick absently between his fingers.

Meredith slunk back behind the wheelie-bins and watched the car. Her van was parked at the far end of the car park, and the BMW was a conspicuous neighbour, given that all the other punters had parked much closer to the entrance of the pub. She swore under her breath and retreated back to the weedy flower bed under her window. She was going to have to walk to the next village. Yes that would do for now. There was a pub there she could probably get a room in for the night, and then in the morning she could come back here for the van.

A loud knocking sounded from the room beyond the window above.  
“Excuse me, are you alright in there?” Came the timid voice of one of the barmaids. “Excuse me, madam?”  
“Out of the way.” The voice was deep and held a note of ominous promise that sent Meredith unconsciously stepping back from the window.  
There was a flash of white light and a woman’s screech. Meredith heard the door inside the bathroom crash open, and above her the window blew outwards, raining glass splinters down upon her. Heavy footfall from more than one person tapped out on the tiles.  
“She isn’t here.” This voice was nasal and sounded strained.  
“I can see that, Emery. She’s gone through one of the windows. Get the others now.”

Meredith didn’t need to hear anymore. She was sprinting towards the edge of the woods. Her heart felt as though it had stopped, and yet her blood pounded at her eardrums as she ran. She heard heavy footsteps behind her, and the crashing and snapping noises of people moving swiftly through undergrowth. Shitshitshit. To her left was a thick rhododendron. She dived for cover within it and froze, chest straining with the effort of quieting her breathing.  
The footsteps crashed past but stopped, to her alarm, only metres further into the forest. 

“The locator isn’t working!” gasped out a rather breathless Phone-Guy, tapping another small stick to his phone, which was now whistling and emitting fizzing blue sparks.   
“She’s wearing some sort of concealment charm.” This voice was hoarse and deep. “It’s why it has been so hard to find her. Great thinking to use the muggle’s electric money to track her down Duncan.”  
Meredith winced; they’d used her bank details. She’d presumed using an alias was enough. Well she had presumed wrong, and now avoiding carrying cash hadn’t been the safety net she had hoped for. Also, what the hell was a muggle? Well she certainly felt like one now. It was quiet except for the ragged breathing of Phone-Guy, who sounded distinctly like someone more at home in an office environment.

“What now Duncan?” came the deep throaty voice.  
“Quiet.” It was the same even toned menacing voice she had heard from the window. “I think she is close; can you not feel it?”  
Meredith felt sweat streaming down between her shoulder blades and shivered. The effort of barely breathing was beginning to make her feel lightheaded.  
“Homenum Revelio”

Meredith felt her mother’s necklace suddenly flare with heat and stifled a cry of pain. In front of her, the branches of the rhododendron parted like an open book, revealing three men. Two wore expressions of shock, and she recognised Phone-Guy and the guy from near the front door. The third fixed her with his cold grey case, a terrifying half smile playing across his lips.

That was about all she took in. She was up on her feet, sprinting back towards her van. Fuck it if that BMW was still there, she needed transport out of here. She heard no sounds of pursuit but didn’t relax for a second. These guys were definitely Gang. They were organised and spoke in that weird latin code she’d overheard last time they’d gotten too close.

“Petrificus Totalus.” It was the grey-eyed bastard, Duncan. His voice sounded almost lazy.

Meredith tried to scream but couldn’t. Her throat felt closed off. Her arms and legs had snapped to her sides like some horrible parody of a solider standing to attention. Her momentum, unfortunately, was unaffected, and she crashed to the ground, skidding through the wet leaves on her face. The impact winded her, and she was still gasping painfully for air when a black leather boot was pushed under her chest and lifted upwards, rolling her on to her back.   
Duncan looked down at her, one copper eyebrow raised. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you. You really have been causing us quite some trouble.”  
Meredith felt herself jerked into the air. There were no hands holding her, no ropes. She appeared to be floating in front of this Duncan person, who was pointing another one of those bloody sticks at her like it was some sort of weapon. She squeezed her eyes shut; she must have hit her head quite hard.

“Ready the car. We’re too close to the Muggle tavern for anything more efficient for now.”

The car? They were going to take her somewhere else. Meredith knew what that meant. She knew with every fibre of her being that she needed to not get into that BMW. She tried with all her might to release herself but couldn’t even move an eyelid. Screaming internally, she fought and fought her invisible bonds. Oh no Elizabeth, Mum, she thought, I’ve let you down. A tear ran down her cheek and beaded on her chin. The necklace around her neck grew scorching hot.  
“Ouch!” She cried out, her hand flying to her chest. The rest of her was still frozen, but her right hand was now free. She looked back at the man, Duncan. He was looking away, speaking to Phone-Guy. She stared at her hand, wiggling her fingers. Slowly, carefully, eyes on the men always, she worked her head forwards and backwards, and tried twisting her other arm. It felt like the muscles were old leather, seized and cracking with movement. But movement there was. She must have caused some sort of temporary paralysis when she fell and hit her head. She fell to the ground with a soft thump, her legs collapsing beneath her. At the sound, all three men’s heads snapped round to her.

“Stupefy!”  
A flash of red light, and a hard blunt impact to her chest. She was on the forest floor on her back. Her vision was fading fast. She felt like the whole world was rushing away from her. The wind in her ears grew louder, but she could still hear the voices of her attackers.  
“She doesn’t have a wand, how did she break the body bind? She hasn’t stunned properly either!”   
“It is this.” Came the voice of Duncan. She felt a sharp tug at her neck and then the chain of her necklace cutting into her. It snapped abruptly. She began to lose her fight with unconsciousness.   
She felt herself hoisted up into hard cool arms, and pressed into a broad chest, facing forwards. Her eyes closed, the world paling to a peaceful grey colour. This wasn’t too bad, if this was dying.  
She felt hot breath on her ear, lips so close the movement tickled her skin.  
“Go to sleep now, we can talk later.” There was a pause, and she felt the lips quirk up at her ear lobe. “Good night, Meredith Riddle”.

And then all was black.

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is fairly short, and is a bit of a taste. This is aimed at others >18 that grew up reading Harry Potter but are happy with a little more mature content. There will be sex scenes later on (I will signpost these) and if that doesn't boil your potatoes then maybe you needs to navigate away. Otherwise, have a read. Tell me what you think and whether you would like to read more. I've got a full story line here if you like what you see!


End file.
